Jordan Belcher - Status

When I heard Rodrick say something to him about drugs, I turned my head. I didn’t want to hear anything about their dealings. That way if either one of them got indicted, I wouldn’t know a thing.

My phone beeped and I pulled it out my purse. I had notifications from my Site page. I tapped the screen with my thumb and saw that 39 people had “Liked” my status update. I clicked on the comments feed and started reading:

Christina MsFineGirl:I had a great time! Thanks for inviting me!

Atlanta Baby:I think Kylie liked my gift the most :)

Rita RealSpit Gibson:You have a beautiful baby girl. Give her lots of love and never let up.

Quita Wheeler:Tell her happy birthday for me.

Joanne Dunley:Sorry I couldn’t come. Stuart didn’t come back with my car in time.

Ladykiller:I wish I was there

I knew everybody on here personally that commented on my post except the Quita Wheeler chick, Rita, and Ladykiller. From her info page, it looked like Quita graduated at the same school and in the same year as Rodrick and a few of my other friends. She’d randomly comment or Like one of my posts, and that was cool. Rita was an older woman in her late 40’s who always made inspirational quotes that sometimes gave me that boost I needed. But Ladykiller was something else altogether.

Every time—and I mean every time —I made a post, Ladykiller would Like it. He was the true definition of a stalker. There was very little about him on his profile page. All it said was that we went to the same school and graduated the same year. But I didn’t remember him. And neither did Deja. He looked handsome in his profile picture—360 waves in his hair, piercing brown eyes, and a cute barely-grown-in mustache. But the question was—was it really his picture?

I showed Rodrick and Gideon my phone. “Look. It’s him again. Look what he posted.”

They both read it. Rodrick said, “You think it’s funny, Tyesha. You need to quit playin’ and delete his ass.”

I took my phone back. “Delete all of yo groupie stalkers and I’ll delete mine.”

Tyesha816:At Planet Fitness, gettin’ it in like a G is ‘sposed ta. LOL!— with Deja Michelle .

August 14 th, 4:13 p.m.

Fifteen minutes in, with five more to go, I jacked my arms back and forth on the elliptical machine. My sports bra was soaked between my breasts from all the sweat running down my neck. It was like my pink headband wasn’t working. Still, I kept pumping, with Cash Out’s “Drip”playing in one of my eardrums. I left the other earbud hanging against my body so I could listen to Deja preach to me.

“He’s gonna keep treating you any kind of way until you dump his ass,” said Deja through her heaving pants. She was sweating just as hard as me on the elliptical to my right. “As long as you keep lettin’ him play you, he’s gonna continue to play you. He’s never gonna change.”

“Everybody’s capable of change. Even gangsters. You see he’s changed a lot since he got out of jail this last time. He found God.”

“Yeah, but he just uses the Bible to his advantage. He uses it to keep you in check. Whenever you accuse him of cheating, he just spits out a passage about trust. What did he tell you last time? That you were just scared he’d leave you, and God says there’s no fear in love. And then you turned around and made that yo status update.”

I smiled. “I got a lot of Likes.”

“You’re always joking. You need to take life more seriously. That’s why people always take advantage of you,” Deja said sternly. “But I know the real reason you haven’t broken up with him yet…”

“Which is?” I asked.

“You don’t want to change yo relationship status to ‘single.’ You’re so caught up by what those internet people think of you. You’re too embarrassed to be single. But don’t you think him sleeping around on you is more embarrassing? You post all these stats about how much you love him and how much you love being in love, but deep down you’re hurting. I can see it, girl.”

“So wrong,” I said.

Sort of true , I retracted in my head. But I wasn’t about to admit it. Total, I’d say I had six years invested in Rodrick Brown. We met in high school, back when I was a 17-year-old junior and he a senior. We had a child together, and everybody in school—even people outside of school, like my mother—expected us or wanted us to fail. I just wanted to prove everybody wrong. Every relationship has its ups and downs. I didn’t want to be like the other girls I saw changing their relationship statuses back and forth between “in a relationship” and “single” every other month. That would be beyond embarrassing. If I was going to change my status, I wanted it to go from “in a relationship” to “engaged,” and eventually to “married”—in that order. Shame on me for sticking it out with an imperfect man I believe in.

“I’m trying to keep you from being hurt,” Deja said. “I see it coming.”

“Did you see his status update today?” I asked.

“Yeah, I did. He posted a picture of Kylie holding all that money, talking ‘bout, ‘My daughter is balling harder than you niggas.’ Rodrick is a piece of work.”

“Guess who Liked it?”

“Me and about 50 other people.”

“Yeah, but I’m talkin’ about that girl Angela youngandfly Serrano. She’s stalking him hard . It’s disrespectful. I know she sees that he’s in a relationship. I know she clicked on the link and seen my page. She knows who I am.”

“And she doesn’t care. Neither does Rodrick. You see he hasn’t deleted her. Nine times out of ten he’s fuckin’ her. Have you ever thought that maybe he likes this girl? Maybe he wants to be with her, but you’re holding him back. Maybe he’s torn between this girl and the mother of his child.”

“Bad theory,” I said.

She laughed. “I’m through with you.”

I got to my third mile before Deja did, but I kept going until she finished. We were supposed to hit the weights next but she gave an excuse about how she was too tired today. Usually I would get her to stay by giving her the guilt trip—telling her the pounds could crawl back on her hips if she didn’t mix in weight lifting with the cardio. But I didn’t this time.

I wanted her to leave.

As I sat down on the leg press alone and mounted my feet against the plate, I thought about all the people that wanted to see me and Rodrick fail. The anger helped me to push out an extra three sets. When I stood up, my hamstrings burned so bad I had to pigeon-walk to the showers.

Under the streaming shower head, I examined my body to see if I had any improvements. I tightened my tummy and still saw the same flatness, no six-pack. Turning my leg so my thigh muscles flexed, I thought I saw more definition but it could’ve just been the gleam of the water playing tricks on me. Sometimes it frustrated me how people new to exercising—like Deja—could start working-out and get better results than somebody that had been doing it way longer. I really think I reached my fitness pique.

When I heard my phone buzz, I leaned halfway out the frosted glass stall and checked it. Somebody else made a comment about my status today. I tapped my screen and read it.

Ladykiller:Which one are you at?

I freaked out. I took my towel and started washing the suds off of me as fast as I could. Was this guy really going to try and meet me here? I suddenly regretted letting Deja leave so easily.

Throwing on my Ruskin Eagles hoodie and campus pants and slinging my gym bag strap over my shoulder, I high-tailed it out of the showers. I could tell I didn’t dry off good enough because my booty and my legs still felt wet.